It's that single moment,
Out of every year,
Where there's enough silence,
For the voices of the war-weary veterans,
And the fallen soldiers
To stand tall again,
Their names dripping from thankful lips
As the battle worn survivors
Close their eyes against the poppy red reminders
Of once innocent battlefields
And final words whispered from bomb torn throats.
It's that single moment,
Out of every year,
Where long buried hands,
Now bearing the semblance of solidity,
Slide their fingers into hands of men that have long since wrinkled,
But still remember the darkness of a gun grasped there
And whose ears can still hear the marching and whispered camaraderie.
It's that single moment,
Out of every year,
Where the years melt away,
And there are no war-weary veterans
Or fallen soldiers
But rather,
A song for heroes who didn't ask for one,
Thanks for those who didn't expect it,
A unified heart and pride thrumming,
In that single moment,
Out of every year.
©The Last Letter